Note: I realize Callen/Nell is not canon, maybe never will be. This is a bit of a diversion for me, playing in a different sandbox, but I'll be back to Densi soon. There's a little Densi here because I just can't help it, but overall I just wanted to try writing something different. The story takes place in some indeterminate previous fall, not really in the current timeline of the show. This is for MioneAlterEgo who definitely has a lock on writing Nallen (check her stuff out!). Thanks for the beta, my friend! And thanks for reading if you do.

"You know, Nell is kind of a rare name. Where did your name come from?"

"Nell is currently ranked as the 588th most popular girl's name, putting it in the top 14% of names for girls. I'd hardly call that rare."

"Why am I not surprised you know that? And don't think I didn't notice how you sidestepped my question there."

Silence followed, the sticky sound of a roller applying a wide stripe of light green paint on the wall the only sound in the room.

Nell cast a slightly cautious glance towards Callen. He was focused on the task at hand, painting the high portions of the wall near the ceiling, and despite his earlier words, seemed to not be paying her any further attention, giving her the impression he was content to let the subject lie if she didn't want to answer. Something told her that impression was wrong, and that he was actually lulling her into a false sense of security.

She glanced out the screened window, feeling the warm evening air of the Indian Summer Los Angeles was experience breeze through, along with the sounds of Kensi and Deeks arguing in the kitchen. They seemed to be debating who would mask the edges of the cabinets with tape before painting the kitchen walls. Deeks clearly thought he would do a better job with the detail oriented task while Kensi vehemently disagreed with him. Nell shook her head with a private smile, knowing that as with many things, Kensi disagreed with Deeks on principle and because it was how they riled each other up, how that spark between them flickered, burning bright and drawing them both close to the flame that they couldn't really touch.

Swiping her hand across her brow, Nell belatedly realized there had been wet green paint on the back of her wrist, now likely a green streak on her forehead. For a second she froze, feeling a little insecure that Callen, someone she still occasionally felt intimidated and impressed by at work, was going to see her with paint on her face, and likely on other places of her clothes and body she wasn't yet aware of.

But taking a quick glance down, Nell sighed and then mentally shrugged. The plan to help Callen paint his house had evolved rather spontaneously when at the end of a workday Deeks declared it unnatural that Callen hadn't bought much furniture for a house he'd had for two years. Callen had countered with his argument that he hadn't painted yet, so hadn't bought furniture. And he hadn't painted because he hadn't had time. And who needed furniture anyway?

Taking that as a personal challenge, Deeks had dragged them all into the post-work venture. It wasn't as though she'd had a lot of time to think about her wardrobe in the time between work and heading to Callen's house. She'd grabbed clothes she didn't care if she got paint on, blue leggings and her gray Mercyhurst University shirt, topped with a faded green bandana over her hair. She wouldn't be winning any fashion contests, even without the spots and splashes of green paint.

"What happened to Eric?"

"He had to go in after he talked to Hetty on the phone. Something she needed to have done right away. She didn't need the rest of us though, so it must not be too serious."

Nell forced down the brief flash of uneasiness. She was here, helping paint the master bedroom of Callen's house, because Eric had been helping her. She'd started on the lower half of the wall, Eric had taken the top towards the ceiling. But then Hetty had called for him and Callen had taken over. Trying to pinpoint her anxiety, she knew it wasn't because she was annoyed with the idea of doing manual labor to help make Callen's house more livable. In fact, she'd been hoping that it would be an opportunity for her and Eric to have some fun, and to do something outside of work with her co-workers.

It was because Callen unsettled her. It was easier when they were at work. There she was confident and competent. There she was the best at her job, could give him and the team any information they needed, could make miracles happen with her fingers flying across a keyboard and her brain focused on tasks.

But here, in his home, things were different. He was different. Not by a lot, but definitely by a little. And by enough that she noticed. His shoulders were a little more relaxed, his eyes slightly softened, his smile a bit more ready. That she noticed all that implied things she wasn't ready to admit to.

And he was persistently more inquisitive away from work, away from the everyday distractions of saving the world. Or at least saving the greater Los Angeles area. His mind was always working, and usually more focused on the job. But now, away from those demands, he seemed to cast a more curious, personal net. It had been just long enough since he'd asked about her name that she thought he might have let it go when—

"So," Callen said, drawing out the word. "Your name. Where does it come from?"

Nell waited another few seconds, weighing her options. It was more than just nervousness about talking about something personal with Callen. Names were a tricky thing with Callen, she knew. Not knowing your own first name had to be hard. And harder still when so much about the rest of his past was unknown and covered in a persistent fog of ambiguity.

"I'm named after Nellie Bly. She was a famous female journalist in the 19th century. Kind of like the Lois Lane of the 1880's," Nell allowed a glance over at Callen and, finding him still steadily painting and not fixing his direct and occasionally intimidating gaze on her, she found the courage to continue. "'Nellie' was a pseudonym for her real name, Elizabeth Cochrane."

Finding encouragement in Callen's silence, she felt the words tumbling from her mouth, filling the silence as she so often felt the compulsion to do. Nell knew it came across as being a know-it-all, but more often than not it was just because she was making a weak and slightly uncomfortable attempt to connect with other people. "She went undercover, pretending to be insane, and reported on deplorable conditions in the mental institutions in New York City. She wrote about the mistreatment of working women and she was fearless in going after corruption. And she traveled around the world in seventy-two days, at a time when few women, and certainly almost no young women of her social circle, went anywhere without a chaperone."

"She sounds like she was brave, strong, smart, and courageous."

Nell startled at Callen's words, breaking through her recitation. They'd been direct, an easy and blunt observation. Exactly like Callen was, never one to say anything except exactly what he thought. She blushed, suddenly speechless.

"Why didn't you want to tell me that before?" Callen asked curiously, his voice a little closer now as he painted near her spot on the wall. Nell shrugged silently, then realized he very possibly hadn't seen the movement since they were both painting and studiously not looking at each other. By design or happenstance, she wasn't sure. But somehow it made the conversation easier for her.

"I don't know. I guess—" Nell paused then, suddenly uncertain of what she wanted to say, of how much she wanted to reveal.

The pause grew to a prolonged silence and then Callen nudged her gently with his elbow, almost causing her to drop her paintbrush. Social niceties demanded that she turn her gaze towards Callen, even though personal knowledge of her historic clumsiness with those same subtleties made her wish she could keep not looking at Callen to have the conversation.

But his hand on her elbow, fingers warm but insistent, pulled her from the previously all-consuming task of painting. And she had to bite the inside of her cheek as her eyes tracked up to his face, taking in the swath of green painted across his jaw and the tiny dots of paint dusting his eyelashes and the bristle of his short hair.

Callen's eyes shifted, seeing the amusement in her eyes, and he cocked his head to the side, his lips lifting in a quirk of a smile. And Nell felt the pound of her heart deepen in a previously unfamiliar thud, a way that had never happened before. She'd been impressed with Callen as an agent and a man with a kind of determined force since they'd met. She could even admit to a small admiring crush. But this was different. This was standing in his bedroom, helping him make his house more of a home. This was him genuinely interested and focused on her, and charmingly flawed and slightly out of sorts thanks to some paint and his impatience in trying to get her to answer his questions.

"You're painting too fast," Nell blurted out. Callen blinked twice, stilled to silence, then burst out laughing. When he calmed to a chuckle, he returned that questioning gaze to her.

"Okay, how do you know that?"

Gesturing to the specks of paint dotting his face and hair, she then pointed to the roller brush in his hands. "There's enough paint on your brush but when you move it too quickly the sponge on the brush will kind of fling it back at you."

Callen rolled his eyes up, as if he were trying to see the paint speckled on his eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair.

"So what you're saying is that I have green polka dots all over my face?"

Nodding vigorously because she couldn't help but be truthful, but also feeling a little rude about pointing such a thing out to Callen, Nell tried to school her features. She knew she would feel a little self conscious if someone told her she had paint all over her face. Belatedly, and with an internal grimace, she realized she already did have paint on her face. And probably her hair and clothes.

Callen shrugged, unconcerned. "Good thing I like the color, then."

Returning to the tray of paint, Callen very carefully coated his roller, then applied slower, steady passes over the wall. Nell watched him, unable to hide her smile as he glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows with a question.

"Much better," she approved. Callen's chuckle was muted as he turned back to the wall and Nell turned towards her half, the lower portion closer to her own height.

The quiet was comfortable then, and Nell felt herself relaxing. It had more to do with how Callen had allowed her to see him as something not quite perfect and just a touch vulnerable. Being vulnerable meant you trusted someone. And Nell knew Callen didn't trust easily. Sure, it was just some misplaced paint. But it felt like more. And she suddenly felt like she wanted to return the gesture.

"You were kind of right. Nell isn't a very common name. At least it wasn't as much when I was younger. My mom named me. She'd read about Nellie Bly as a kid and always admired her. So she shortened it a little and gave me my name." Nell paused, then pressed on with her narrative. "When I was little Mom told me about where my name came from and I thought it was so cool. I had a writing assignment when I was in seventh grade to write about a historical figure. I wrote about Nellie Bly."

Callen stopped painting, somehow sensing this had been the part she'd been reluctant to tell. Nell continued painting, stubbornly not wanting to look at him.

"You know how kids can be. For some reason they thought that made my name funny. I'd been Nell all my life but suddenly they started calling me 'Nellie.' And it wasn't in a friendly nickname kind of way. It was meant as hurtful and mean. I was always a little different, had a hard time connecting with kids my age. I tried to explain why she'd been such an important woman but kids that age don't care. They like to point out anything or anyone different. It took me a long time to not care about that. And even longer for me to get over being mad at myself for letting myself care about what they'd thought in the first place."

"Because you knew she was a really amazing person and you didn't like that they made you think maybe she wasn't."

Nell's eyes shot to Callen's, surprised that he'd seen it so clearly. And then she nodded quickly. "Yes, that's it exactly."

Callen shocked her then, his sharp blue eyes softening as they swept over her forehead where she knew she'd swiped green paint before they settled back on her face, then his index finger lightly tracing the path his eyes had sketched.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

Nell forced herself to look directly in Callen's eyes even as his strong and steady gaze made her want to shift uncomfortably.

"Why do you say that?"

"I think you're more like your namesake than you give yourself credit for."

Brave, strong, smart, and courageous.

Nell tried not to blush as she remembered Callen's earlier words, and as she felt the implication sink in.

She could have left it there, could have turned back to her painting and let the silence hold the unanswered questions heavy between them. It was a step in a direction she wasn't sure was strictly wise. For either of them in practice, and for her even in theory. It wasn't that she made bad choices in her relationships with men. It was more that up until now, up until this strangely tantalizing glimpse of Callen, there hadn't been many people who actually seemed to even try to understand her. And somehow Callen did. Or at least he showed the spark of being able to in a way no one else had before.

Because of that she didn't really want to leave it there. The possibility of what he could mean was far too tempting. Even if it was unwise.

"What are you—"

"Deeks! I'm going to kill you!"

Kensi's shout, quickly followed by Deeks bursting into the master bedroom, interrupted any possible question Nell might have asked. Turning towards the commotion, Nell watched in amusement as Deeks circled the room, seeing nothing to hide behind since Callen still hadn't bought furniture for most of the house.

"Seriously? No dresser or anything? Callen, get a bedroom set or something," Deeks hissed. Unperturbed, Callen shrugged.

"Baby steps. I have a couch and a plant Hetty gave me. That's big for me."

Shaking his head in mock annoyance, Deeks then jumped as Kensi shouted his name again, her voice indicating she was coming towards the bedroom. Whirling around, Deeks finally circled and ducked behind Nell, holding her by the upper arms like a human shield.

"You have the heart of a lion," Callen said dryly, as Nell swallowed the giggle that threatened to escape as Kensi came through the doorway, her pale pink shirt dripping wet with water and streaks of light blue paint. Nell noticed her darker colored bra was visible through the wet fabric as it clung to her chest.

Stopping in her tracks, Kensi gave Deeks a disgusted look. "You're hiding behind a woman almost half your size? That's real mature."

Holding up his hands to stave off a fight, Callen fixed both Kensi and Deeks with steady stares. "What happened and who started it?"

"Deeks. It's always Deeks!"

"Well, that's debatable—"

The two partners spoke at the same time, then squared off against each other, Kensi glaring at Deeks over Nell's shoulder and Deeks trying to maintain an impossible air of innocence.

Callen pointed at them each in turn. "You know what? It doesn't matter who started it. Kensi, you've got the masking of the cabinets in the kitchen."

Kensi smiled triumphantly at Deeks, clearly feeling as though she'd won since Deeks had been so adamant that he should have that job.

"And Deeks, you get the bathroom."

"What? That's not fair! Do you know how hard it is to paint around the plumbing fixtures and mirror in there?"

"Yes, that's why you get to do it," Callen deadpanned. Kensi stuck out her tongue at Deeks, then turned on her heel, a bounce in her step as she left the bedroom for the kitchen.

Behind Nell, Deeks sighed melodramatically, then released her arms, which he hadn't been holding all that tightly to begin with. Glancing up and back over her shoulder, Nell grinned at Deeks, seeing the spark dance in his eyes as he watched his partner leave, his eyes unmistakably sweeping up and down her back and shapely rear. Callen followed Kensi when she called for him, giving Deeks one last stern glance before he left. Nell caught Deeks' eyes with hers, raising a stern eyebrow.

"You got her wet on purpose, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Deeks."

"Okay, okay. Yes, I did," Deeks paused, then his grin deepened at the memory. "But I saw she was wearing a purple bra so it was totally worth it."

Nell rolled her eyes, knowing if it were anyone else she probably would have been offended. But with Deeks even something that might have been lecherous was somehow a compliment.

"You're incorrigible."

Deeks winked at her, tugging at the bandana on her head, loosening it as he backed out of the room. Nell glared at him reproachfully, getting only a chuckle in response, as she reached up to adjust the tie around her hair.

The room quiet once again, Nell leaned down to roll more paint on her brush and return to the wall she'd been painting. And she nearly jumped out of her skin when Callen's voice sounded directly to her right where he'd snuck up on her.

"For what it's worth, I like your name. I think it suits you."

Nell whirled around, wishing her heart would stop pounding. And trying to tell herself it was because he'd surprised her, and not because of his physical proximity.

She calmed quickly, seeing the seriousness in his eyes, the ease and acceptance. Callen was a man without a first name. As small a thing as that might seem, it meant he felt himself as not entirely whole. He didn't have that piece of his identity. He didn't have a story like hers about where his name came from, about a family member that might have given it to him. And she knew there wasn't really anything she could say to change how he specifically felt about that.

But he was giving her something, a little reassurance against what had been a difficult memory for her to share. A reward for her trust in him. Even if that was all it could be for now.

So she gave him the only thing she could give back. Her gratitude and a soft smile.

"Thanks."

With that, Callen picked up his roller brush again, making slow and measured swipes of paint against the wall, filling in the color to meet the section she'd already painted, steadily getting closer and closer to where she was.

END